


Don’t Mind Me, I’m Just Here for the Cheese

by Obscure_ramblings



Series: Getting Sauced [1]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Brotherly Bonding, Crack, Gen, Grocery Shopping, Origin Story, POV Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, The Great British Bake Off References, diversion tactics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 19:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29738751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscure_ramblings/pseuds/Obscure_ramblings
Summary: Normally, Joe was the designated shopper, seeing as he was the only one among them in possession of the supernatural skill that was the ability to follow a simple grocery list. But today Joe was out of commission, tied up a painting project that he kept insisting was almost done, every time he was asked over the past two days.Nicky and Booker had made it relatively unscathed through the bakery department and the canned goods row, where Booker had accomplished his primary mission goal, but then they reached the cheese section. Booker saw his opportunity to lock in a complete diversion.“No.” Nicky was implacable.Booker would almost think he wasn’t getting to the other man at all, if it weren’t for that little muscle tic above Nicky’s right eye. The smallest flicker of movement, probably invisible to anyone who didn’t know him so well. To Booker, it signalled impending victory.Alternative title: The Origin Story of Nicky's Number One Nemesis
Relationships: Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Series: Getting Sauced [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185686
Comments: 12
Kudos: 64





	Don’t Mind Me, I’m Just Here for the Cheese

**Author's Note:**

> This one is for my darling, wonderful Rosie for sparking the idea and also because I just think she’s neat <3\. (If you haven’t yet read their fics, I wholeheartedly recommend you get on that! Her Ao3 is [watthefuckidk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Watthefuckidk/pseuds/Watthefuckidk).) 
> 
> This is a little precursor fic that sets up the scene for part two, where the real action happens.

Nicky and Booker were at the supermarket. This was a most unusual pairing given the location. 

Normally, Joe was the designated shopper, seeing as he was the only one among them in possession of the supernatural skill that was the ability to follow a simple grocery list. Andy would happily chow down on bags of candy and cold baked beans straight from the can, and she baulked at the prices despite being in possession of a literal fortune accumulated over several millennia. Nile was making great strides at learning to speak in several new languages, but she often didn’t read enough of the local dialect to decipher food labels. Quỳnh found the vast yet oddly enclosed expanse of shelving that was the soulless modern supermarket too claustrophobia-inducing to bear for more than a few minutes at a time. Nicky refused point-blank to buy anything that was pre-packaged, which comprised half the items on the list. And Booker? Well, his primary goal in life at this point was to irritate Nicky. Unless they were willing to subsist on reconstituted mashed potatoes and microwave meals, Booker was not the person to send out on grocery runs.

But today Joe was out of commission, tied up a painting project that he kept insisting was almost done, every time he was asked over the past two days. When Nicky discovered this morning that Andy and Quỳnh had finished the last of the essentials—red wine, chilli-cheddar crackers, crystallised ginger, rainbow sprinkles and the like—during an impromptu midnight feast, he had finally accepted his fate.

Nicky was about to pull out of the carport when Booker swung open the rental car’s passenger side door and lowered himself into the seat. “I just need more Oreos!” he protested, in response to the suspicious look Nicky angled in his direction.

The last time they’d gone shopping together, a towering display of canned goods had ended up scattered in all directions and they’d arrived home two hours later with no food to show for the exercise after Nicky had felt obligated to rebuild the display from scratch while Booker helpfully stood by and provided a running commentary on all the ways in which he was doing it wrong. 

Nicky sniffed and let his mouth drop into a moue of disapproval, but he didn’t force Booker out of the car so the Frenchman considered it a win.

Scoring a coveted carpark right outside the entrance to the store, Nicky hoped this was a fortuitous sign for the shopping trip ahead. Booker pushed the trolley while Nicky held the front of the cart with one hand and consulted the list held in the other, scoffing at the many items with which he disagreed about the necessity of obtaining. “Oreos” was written down no fewer than five times, in five different handwriting styles, but Nicky was wise to Booker’s ways and knew that none of the others cared so much for the chocolatey rounds spliced with sweet, white icing. In fact, now that he looked closer, Nicky could see Booker had gone so far as to cross out the cookie requests scribbled down by both Nile and Quỳnh, then appended arrows pointing to yet another instance of “Oreos.” Truly, the man was shameless.

The pair had made it relatively unscathed through the bakery department, where Booker had tried to insist that they purchase a packet of marked-down doughnuts and a red velvet cake bearing the legend “Hapy Biirthday” in twirly writing; and the canned goods row, where Booker had accomplished his primary mission goal, sneaking the seemingly innocuous jar of pasta sauce in underneath the bags of mushrooms and tomatoes Nicky had placed in the trolley earlier. Nicky had even relented on the subject of Oreos, offering up only a token protest, “Booker, I could make bredele. Or madeleines. Macarons?” as Booker placed the blue foil packets reverently in the child seat at the end of the trolley and strapped them in securely with the Velcro lap belt.

They spent a few minutes arguing mildly, just for form really, over which scent of dishwashing liquid was the least offensive, then turned the corner into a wave of artificial coolness. The dairy department. They compromised by buying one litre of regular milk and one litre of watered-down nonsense that bore only a passing resemblance to true milk, _Booker_. Nicky’s lip curled up in a disdainful expression as he said this. Booker let that one go in favour of focusing on the long game, simply offering up a shrug in reply. 

Kefir might be the only thing they agreed on; that tall bottle of deliciousness went straight into the trolley with nary a protest passing the lips of either man. Nicky actually permitted himself a small smile and a single approving nod when Booker selected the large size, propping it upright between two bags of flour and a selection of fruits piled in paper bags.

Then they reached the cheese section. Booker saw his opportunity to lock in a complete diversion. “Please, allow me.” He abandoned the trolley on the opposite side of the aisle, well aware that Nicky’s unwillingness to leave it unattended at any point meant he would feel obligated to stand next to the cart while Booker perused the offerings.

Booker cupped his fingers below his chin and pretending to consider the options on the shelf in front of them. Reached out and ran his fingers over a block of pecorino, waited for the quiet sigh of relief to pass Nicky’s lips before he pulled back. Selected a wedge of parmesan and flipped it over to read the label on the back before replacing it and instead weighing a tub of ricotta in his palm. Hummed in consideration, touching the top of a round of mozzarella before diverting at the last second and snatching up a large bag of pre-shredded cheddar.

“Ah, très bien; see, mon frère, the work has already been done for us! Think what a time-saver it will be to buy cheese that’s already grated.” Booker felt like he might bust a rib holding his mirth in check, but managed to keep a mostly straight face when he shoved the bag under Nicky’s nose.

“No.” Nicky’s voice was calm, controlled, but emphatic. He pushed the package away with a single finger, as if not wanting to sully his whole palm by placing it in contact with the plastic wrapper.

Booker pretended to be hurt. “Mais pourquoi? I’m thinking only of you, toiling away in the heat of the kitchen, making such delicious food for us all, being able to reach into the fridge for the pure convenience of cheese that has already been prepared, no additional effort required.”

“No.” Nicky was implacable.

Booker would almost think he wasn’t getting to the other man at all, if it weren’t for that little muscle tic above Nicky’s right eye. The smallest flicker of movement, probably invisible to anyone who didn’t know him so well. To Booker, it signalled impending victory. He couldn’t resist.

“But it would go so nicely with some fresh pasta, maybe a tagliatelle or a ravioli, topped with a thick tomato sauce flavoured with garlic, basil…” Nicky was catching on, scanning the trolley with suspicion, but not yet spotting the Prego in its temporary hiding place. Booker realised he’d gotten too cocky. He needed a distraction. “How about this: we’ll get this as well as whatever cheese you want. Then we’re done and we can go back to the house, see if Joe’s finished yet.”

While Nicky was thinking this over, clearly tempted by the suggestion given that Joe had spent the entirety of those two days glued to his painting, no attention left to spare for his poor, neglected husband, Booker put the bag in the trolley and picked up the block of pecorino he’d bypassed earlier. “Will this do?” At Nicky’s begrudging nod of assent, Booker placed it next to his bag of cheese and seized the side of the trolley, shuffling Nicky along in its wake as he pulled it towards the checkout. 

Now came the final hurdle. Booker scouted their surroundings as they lined up behind a family whose trolley was loaded to the brim with foodstuffs. Nicky sighed impatiently at Booker, gesturing to the nearly empty queue one aisle over, but Booker just grinned and lined their trolley up in the slow-moving line. Spotting a copy of Cuisine magazine, the cover graced with a familiar slim figure topped with a head of smooth white hair shaped into a tasteful bob, Booker knew he’d struck gold. 

The family in front of them finally finished up and left. Booker started unloading the groceries, accepting the items that Nicky passed over to him from the back of the cart, then paused just before Nicky reached for the paper bags of produce. “Is that Mary Berry?” he pretended to notice the magazine for the first time. “You were saying the other day that Great British Bake Off just isn’t the same without her.”

With Nicky’s attention successfully diverted, Booker hustled the jar of Prego to the front of the conveyor belt and gestured to the checkout operator to scan it quickly. As soon as it had passed through the scanner, Booker tucked it into the voluminous inside pocket of the jacket he’d worn for just this purpose. He quickly loaded the last of the groceries from the cart onto the conveyor belt and whipped out his wallet to hand over the correct amount of cash.

Nicky hummed under his breath, missing the entire exchange, before adding the magazine to their purchases. He moved up to stand next to Booker, tucking the magazine carefully on top of the bags of flour, smoothing out the corners to ensure no creases marred the gentle smile on Dame Mary’s face.

They proceeded to the car and offloaded the shopping bags. Nicky returned the cart to the trolley stand while Booker sat in the passenger seat and gloated quietly, already anticipating the spectacle that was to come. 

Nicky took his seat and buckled up, checking left, right, forward, behind and above for the almost-inevitable appearance of the invisible car that haunted every supermarket car park, waiting to rematerialise at the least sign of inattention and crash into their bumper. He carefully pulled out of the space and got them back on the road, driving towards the safehouse.

“That went well, I think,” Nicky said. “Much better than the last time. But you will keep that bag of so-called cheese away from my pasta.” He pointed a warning finger in Booker’s direction.

Booker just smiled and stroked a hand over the outline of the jar that was cradled against his side. “Of course, Nicky. Whatever you say.”

**Author's Note:**

> Phrases I never anticipated having in my search bar: “origins of pre-shredded cheese” and “when did pre-shredded cheese launch” along with several other variants XD. Side note: I did not discover the origin story but decided I’d already sunk enough time into reading about that crime against nature—so instead I’m moving on to part three of this fic series, which is undoubtedly a better use of my time ahahaha.


End file.
